Extra White Is The New Black
Autobot City - Munitions Bay ''The staging area of Metroplex functions in many ways as an armory. It is a very large room with heavily armored walls, gleaming and shining in perfect military spotlessness. Upon these gleaming silver bulkheads are racks upon racks that hold every manner of weaponry. From Ion Cannons to Plasma Ejectors, Rail-Guns and Auto-Cannons every sort of possible weapon is ready to be grabbed in an emergency. Benches line the walls for 'bots to re-arm and perform last minute adjustments before heading out on one of any number of missions. In the very center of the room is a raised dias with cables to be connected to individuals and their various forms of firepower. From here, the armorer can perform calibrations and scans to make sure that each is functioning at their best. Located in the back behind thick blast doors is a storage facility for various explosives along with a special workshop that is further armored and secured behind protective forcefields for ordnance modifications and disposal. '' Crosshairs has laid out emergency supplies on the floor of the Munitions Bay and placed a very large table in the middle; clearly prepping for some sort of extensive surgery or repairs. He's not in a hurry, but there is a bit of a grim line on his face that suggests this wil not be easy. He has sent Arsenal and Foxfire, or maybe Sit-Com and Dee-Kal or some mix of the lot to retrieve Jazz from where he collapsed at the entryway to Autobot City a few minutes prior. He has also gone so far as to put out a call for medical assist; and has just now completed final preparations -- waiting for the 'body' to be brought in; standing beside the table. Arsenal grumbles beneath his faceplate as he does his best to drag 'Jazz' in. He'd rather be scavenging on cybertron or poppin' caps in cons. I hope that's how the kids say it now a'days. He's old and in a young body so it's rough on him. Back to the point. With a heave and a ho' he clasps one of Jazz' arms. Dragging the body/corpse to the table. At best......maybe worst he owes X-hairs.....that is the mech that saved him from some swampy bog. Dee-Kal has the tools required on-standby, everything is to-hand or neatly laid out on a small trolley atop a white cloth as per a medical wing. Hygiene and presentation, whether metal or organic, is how Autobots roll. She stands quietly by, ponytail coiled into a bun on her head. Foxfire, unfortunately, can't do much in assisting Arsenal right now. Jazz is a lot bigger than him, after all. Ah, the bane of being an itty bitty foxbot. So for now he's just trailing along after Arsenal, making sure that Jazz isn't put in worse condition than he already is. First Aid quickly strides into the medical ward, half expecting to see the shattered remains of the Autobots' top spy already there. Whew, he thinks, I'm not too late. "Any word yet?" he asks Crosshairs, rushing over to the opposite side of the surgical table. Before he can get an answer, though, Arsenal's grumbling heralds the wounded mech's arrival. "My goodness," he murmurs before snapping into action. "Right over here, Arsenal." First Aid turns to one of the prep tables and snags several advanced tools. "Dee-Kal, is there a magnetic clamp over there?" Sit-Com is all ready to assist, standing beside the Junkette with tools in-hand. He's got his stethoscope around his neck. "Don't worry, I won't touch the sides." Dee-Kal checks her table, picks up the required clamp, and hands it over, white gloves on her hands. She nods to First Aid. Lying in a pool of oil, energon, and seawater, Jazz lies motionless with his patented blue visor completely dark. Somewhere in a processor dream, the Intel Director is hangin' out at a blues bar listenin' to the house band do their thing. He quietly sips a glass of ener-brew and smacks his metallic mouth together. "Ahh! That's the stuff! At a perfect 34 degrees that soothes the radiator so, so good!" Unfortunately that was only a dream and the reality was Jazz's lifeless form had just been dragged into the Munitions Bay, leaving a streak of energon behind him. Usually, the Autobot was all about style and this was far from stylish. It was just another grim reminder of how 'real' this war with the Decepticons could be. Sometimes; things catch you off guard even in an emergency situation. First Aid coming in catches the old mech off guard and Crosshairs peers. "Welcome back to active duty." is all he has time to say before Jazz is brought in and he's making room for him, bending to assist Arsenal in getting the remains of Jazz up onto the table. "First Aid." He says to him. "Why don't you take t'honors along with Sit-Com an' Dee-Kal fer most of this. I've gotta get a little extra ready. I'd been wantin' to do this for some time, but . . never could get Jazz t'sit still. Get his vitals up t'where they should be, refuel 'im and strip -all- of his armor off. I'm gonna replace his outer skin with an advanced compound. Jus' don't let 'im die on me." He grimly turns, stepping into an adjoining room. Arsenal clutches the Jazz arm till it arrives on the proper table. For a small mech he still holds a bit of his former might. With the assistance of x-hairs he plops Jazz down. "Stay groovy brotha'." is all Arsenal can whisper before being escorted from the medical bay. Unlike Arsenal, Foxfire is allowed to stay in the medical bay. He backs up a little after Jazz is placed on the repair table, ears lowered slightly. Seemingly anxious, he rears up onto his hind legs in an attempt to get a better look at the unconscious mech. "Is there anything I can do?" he asks, his tone indicating great concern. First Aid reaches out over the table and takes the magnetic clamps, nodding his appreciation to the little Junkion. As he configures it, he replies to Crosshairs, "Thanks, though I wish it wasn't necessary." He gives the magnetic clamps a quick pass with a diagnostics scanner as he listens to Crosshairs's request. "Not a problem, Crosshairs. I'm sure we can handle this." He looks over at Sit-Com. "Good to see you again. If you could begin with the energon leaks?" To Dee-kal, he says, "And if you could monitor his vital signs? If there's any fluctuations, we need to know quickly." Holding the clamps out, he gazes down at the battered Autobot. Jazz is normally a smooth talking mech with a flair for everything, and now he's a twisted and broken machine. Hang in there, Jazz, First Aid thinks, we'll get you back to your old self in no time. He applies the clamps, keeping the mech in one place for the surgery. "Jazz is going to need all the emotional help he can get," he replies to Foxfire. Dee-Kal's inner humour is quirked, all of a fraction, at the mention of stripping all the armour off - but the pitiable sight of Jazz's condition is enough to squash any semblance of a smile. She remains stoic and says nothing. Instead she looks to First Aid, moving forwards but touching nothing as yet. Her hands hover to do as Crosshairs instructed. Vital signs need monitoring? She withdraws, and rolls the stats monitor in closer to the med table and her tools trolley, and remains watchful. Foxfire drops back down to all fours and nods. "Okay." He slips around to a side of the table where he won't get in the way. "Just hang in there, Jazz..." Sit-Com nods and starts working on the leaks. "To stop all those little leaks, get Huggies." Fortunately he's not installing diapers on Jazz. He looks over at Jazz. "Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there." "Play it again man! I'm diggin' that Blue Lead In E Major!" Hoisting up a fresh tanker of ener-brew, Jazz clinks it against a fellow bar patron's glass, causing a little to spill on the bar, but it's all good when the party is really in full swing. "Ya know, one time on Cosmix IX we were throwin' this shin-dig for Silverbolt when all of a sudden I get a communique about a raid just a hop, skip, and a jump away. I'm tellin' you my systems were overloaded with ener-brew but I got down and took care of business with Bumblebee like a champ! Never did tell Rodimus 'bout that but that'll just be between you, me, and that pretty mech over there." Jazz blinks his brightly-lit blue visor, giving as much of a 'wink' as he can to the pink femme. "What did she her name was?" the Autobot asks to the bar patron next to him. "Ah well I'm havin' a good time so no need to break up my gameplan!" Jazz turns around as flinches as he thinks he heard Foxfire nearby say something, "Foxy?! What do you mean hang in there?! I'm rockin' like it's 2005!" Back in the present day, the Intel Director continues to lie motionless, his blackened frame still sparking in various places from enemy fire. A starfish is lodged in Jazz's shoulder armor, proof of probably a harrowing trip through the ocean. First Aid knows how Dee-Kal is feeling, but his sense of professionalism trumps his terror and compassion for his friend. He shoots a quick look at Sit-Com. Try as First Aid might, it's always a bit awkward to interact with Junkions in the most serious of settings. After confirming that, yes, there are no diapers on Jazz, First Aid goes back to prepping the surgical tools. Now leaning over the mech with his laser fingertips, First Aid cuts a quick incision in the mech's punctured leg armour. He hopes that somewhere in there, Jazz can hear what Foxfire is saying. Dee-Kal checks the monitor. Jazz's brain activity is up. He's dreaming of something. She wonders what, and hopes it's a party and not combat. The state he's in and what he's been through... she hopes trauma won't bee to bad nor last for too long. Turning her gaze back to the patient, she is momentarily distracted - did the intel director ...wink at her..? A trick of the light. She tilts her head at something else. PIcking up some forceps, the little Junkion gently inches forwards and picks at the shoulder armour. She withdraws, looking at her find. A starfish. A big one too, by Earth standards, long dead however. Curious... Foxfire falls silent, watching intensely as First Aid and Dee-Kal work. After a few long moments, he speaks up again, talking once more to Jazz though he doesn't know if his commanding officer can even hear him. "You're a strong mech, Jazz," he says firmly. "You can make it through this. Come back to us, Jazz!" Jazz turns back to the bar patron next to him, "Thought I heard something but maybe it's just the ener-brew talkin' to me, ya dig?!" The Autobot chuckles as he carries on. "Ya know, I really dig it here on Earth. It's a lot greener than where I was assembled, but it's grown on me over these past few cycl..I mean uh years like you guys call 'em. Maybe one day when the time's right I'll ask to get permanently assigned here to watch over this rockin' place! I can just see it now! Me runnin' Autobot City and havin' a kum-ba-ya fest every weekend, hah!" Jazz grabs at his back, his sensors flaring up like something's crawling over him. Taking a sip of his ener-brew, the Bot wonders what's going on. "Yo man, think my receptors are on the fritz! Coulda just sworn I felt something yanked outta my back, but there isn't anything there! Weird!" Then Jazz hears Foxfire louder. "Huh?! Where are ya pal?!" Getting up from his seat, the Autobot walks over to a glowing door near the back of the bar. Maybe that's where the voice was coming from. "Foxy?! You in there?!" Walking through the door, Jazz suddenly gets blasted by an auroa of light --- and pain. "Ooooowww!! My receptors! Someone tune 'em down!!!" shouts the beaten Autobot as his cracked visor comes on-line. Looking down at his frame, Jazz spits out some energon. "At least I didn't have to pay the tab before I left." Dee-Kal's optics widen. The monitor shows brain activity is too high. She moves to grab a sedation tool, but too late, Jazz's optics are open. She does the first thing she can think of - she drops a sterile cloth over his face. "Eureka!" Sit-Com exclaims, as he sees Jazz stir to life. First Aid slices away the armour, revealing innards full of salt water damage. Rusted circuitry, shredded wires, and waterlogged hydraulics. "This is going to require a full overhaul, Sit-Com," he tells the Junkion. He shoots a quick glance at Dee-Kal, silently asking her for a status update. As he does, he leans down for a delicate bit of-"oof!" First Aid backs up as Jazz unexpectedly comes to. "Jazz!" he exclaims with a mix of awe and horror. This is not the best time for the patient to be waking up! He nods at Deek's quick thinking. "Jazz?" he repeats in a quieter voice. "Can you hear us?" "Jazz!" Foxfire exclaims, surprised as the mech comes online. He abruptly goes quiet again, optics wide as he lets First Aid speak to Jazz. Dee-Kal shakes her head as Sit-COm. She holds the sedation tool, looking to First Aid. To her cousin; "Eureka ku nai, onii-san. This is not wanted. He should smurf... sleep. That is best. You wish him to see this?" Finally, Crosshairs emerges from the room pushing a cart. There is a lot of pristine white plating on it that has been precisely cut to match. He frowns; seeing that the 'paitent' is awake and looks at Dee-Kal and Sit-Com accusingly. But there is nothing else for it as he bends forward over the table. "Welcome back." He says to him. "I'll give ya the good an' the bad. The good is ya made it back, the bad is . . sounds like we're gonna have t'do a full rebuild. So, I'm gonna put ya back out here in a few. The extra good news is that I've been holdin' on to some enhanced-density armor platin' for ya, an' I'm gonna include it in the rebuild. So, how's 'bout a nap, an' you got anythin' else to say?" Jazz groans as he reaches for the large gash across his battered chest plate, "Uhh..I'm...just groovy Bots, but I feel like I just went swimmin' in a tank full of Sharkticons, ya feel me?!" Raising an arm, the Intel Director shakes some of the water out of his forearm armor. "Where's the Jiffy Lube when ya need one, huh?! How bad is it Doc?! Tell me the truth, am I gonna be able to dance again?!" Partly joking, Jazz lets out a soft chuckle that turns into a cough and out comes another few squirts of energon. Dee-Kal moves in immediately, offering a modicum of support. Jazz's face is till covered by a white cloth, incidentally. Reaching for the white cloth, Jazz adjusts it over his wrecked face. "Do what ya gotta do Cross! Turn the lights off. Actually, I'll beat ya to it!" In an instant, the Autobot's face slumps to the side, Jazz shutting down his systems for the skilled technicians. First Aid nods at Dee-Kal in agreement, but refrains from putting Jazz under. The mech's body may be a wreck but his spirit is clearly still strong. Thank goodness there doesn't seem to be any mental damage. Keeping him awake shouldn't be an issue. "Careful, Jazz. You're clamped in pretty good." He reaches out and takes hold of the spy master's arm as he shakes it, carefully helping him lower it back down. "You'll dance, Jazz," he replies. "You had Foxfire worried." Figures. Jazz is laying half dead on a medical table but he's the one cheering everyone else up. Sit-Com nods. "We can rebuild him. We have the technology." Foxfire sighs quietly, relieved at Jazz being consciousness, if only for a minute. He stands on his hind legs again to watch as Jazz shuts himself down. He drops to all fours again and sits on his haunches, idly wondering if his voice was the reason Jazz came online. That would be standard for Jazz. "We'll have ya dancin' again soon." He says. "Though, hopefully you'll learn t'dance a little faster and not get shot." It's a bit of probably a none-too-funny joke. Briefly, he reaches out to pat Foxfire on the head and then goes to work himself. "Sit-Com, head into my storage room an' up to the medbay and bring all t'spares for Jazz you can find. I want him stripped down t'his structural supports an' everything checked over before we put it back in." He looks to his side at First Aid. "What's yer assessment?" Sit-Com nods, saluting Crosshairs and diving into the storage room. Some rummaging can be heard, as well as "Oy, Lucy, what have you done?" and "It's gotta be in here somewhere!" After a few more minutes, the Junkion re-emerges with the necessary parts. He takes them to Crosshairs. Dee-Kal eases Jazz back down (assuming he was roughly sat up) and sighs quietly. She places a second cloth over his face, (unaware this is the way you show 'final respects', incidentally) so if he does awaken, he won't be dazzled. She poise her sedation tool, a simple query to First and Cross. "So ka?" "To be honest I was getting a little worried until he woke up," First Aid replies to Crosshairs. The Protectobot leans back down again and sets to work, replacing each component one by one. Once the innards are repaired Crosshairs can handle installing the shiny new white plating that serves as Jazz's armour. It's long, grueling work that doesn't allow for much margin of error, but First Aid throws himself into the task. Luckily, he has Foxfire, Sit-Com, and Deek here to keep Jazz's spirits high. Or vice versa. As the assembled team gets to work, Jazz gets to work catching up with some deactivation rest. It's not often the Autobot officer actually takes the time to de-activate himself and recharge his reserves. Usually, he's too caught up in reading over the latest intel reports or checking out the latest re-runs of Quantum Leap. This was a little different though and Jazz knew he was in the best hands. Hopefully, when he was re-activated, he'd look even cooler than before. At least that's what Jazz was thinking about in his idle state. Long, long work indeed. Boring work at that! Crosshairs nods and grunts to First Aid and Dee-Kal and sets up to do his own part, concentrating mostly on Jazz's torso and his left leg. "I'd like t'know what he did to get himself done in this bad, but I'm sure we'll find out, soon 'nuff." The old mech comments as he puts his head down. Hours later and probably lots of grumbling at Sit-Com back and forth to get parts, he finally lifts his head and points to the trolley. "That . . looks remarkably good, folks. Good job. Let's get that new armor platin' on and we're rockin' as Jazz would say. Spent months on tha' alloy. Just as light as before, but stronger, an' extra white . . and non-stick like teflon. So he'll not just be able t'take hits better, he'll be cleaner!" He seems oddly proud of this. At some point during the repair process, Foxfire jumped into a nearby chair to get a better view. He is still there by the time the others finish, never once leaving the med bay. His ears perk forward as he peers at Jazz, looking him over. What Jazz did to get himself in this state has been bugging First Aid as well, though he tries to put it out of his mind. As the labourous job comes to a close, First Aid takes a step back, wiping his hands on a cloth. "It isn't his armour I'm worried about," the doctor asides to Crosshairs. "Jazz? Can you hear us? How do you feel?" "Nice work," Sit-Com says to Crosshairs and First Aid. The wrist-TV he's wearing is very softly playing the M*A*S*H theme. And almost on cue, Jazz's freshly installed visor glows to life. "Hey hey! I'm back and feelin' like I just slept about 100,000 cycles!" Taking a glance down at his frame, the Autobot can't help but grin. "Wow! That's some work! I'm thinkin' I owe you all my DJ services at the next party of your choosin', ya dig?!" That's when Jazz spots the new armour being rolled in by Sit-Com. "Awesome! Now that's what I call KILLER white! Once we put some racin' stripes on the sides of that, I'll be makin' the front page of Motortrend for sure!" Dee-Kal checks the monitor. Then jazz does wake up, of his own volition. She removes the cloths over his face in time for him to see the new armour. "Jazz?" Foxfire ventures, leaning forward a bit as he continues to sit on the chair. "Thank you," he says, his tone a bit quiet, "for coming back to us." "I wasn't implying that we were worried about anythin' else." Crosshairs says to First Aid, a little defensively even. But it passes along as he is pleased to see that Jazz has awakened. "Y'can provide yer services as a mixologist sometime soon, too." He quips, and begins the installation of the 'brilliant' new armor. "So, we gotta ask ya, Jazz." His voice continues. " . . wha'd ya do to get in this mess? Ya were a walkin' junkheap." "Glad you're in a good mood, Jazz," First Aid says, now starting to put the tools away. "I think we're all a bit curious," he adds to Crosshairs's line of questioning. Reidan exits the hospital. Reidan has arrived. Clackity clackity clackity... An odd but famiiliar sound is heard approaching, and Reidan rolls in - literally. He was on rollerskates, carrying a backpack and wearing his hat tucked down low on his curley hair. One toe skids against the floor to slow down as he whirls about, coming to a halt with a clearing of throat for someone's attention. As Crosshairs gets to work, Jazz gets to work recalling the data from his memory banks. "Well it wasn't really my choosin' I'll tell ya that, but I had to really improvise to get outta' there with my laser core!" The Autobot looks down approving of the new armour again as he begins the story. "Ya see, I was just cruisin' along mindin' my own business when ZAAAAAP! I was struck by something. Next thing I knew I was in the middle of an arena on Decepticon Island surrounded by a wreckin' squad of bad dudes! Galvatron locked me in my Porsche mode and basically was havin' his minions play Kill-The-Jazz with me. I was COMPLETELY surrounded!" Adjusting his arm so some of the armour snaps into place easier, the Autobot lights up with his usual expression. "So there I was lookin' down the barrel of my demise when I got a plan! I gave those Decepticreeps a HEAVY DOSE of my partyin' music and lights! Had them stickin' each other with lasers, missiles, punches, etc etc! There was like 7-8 of them, but I held up long enough to make an escape and then had to do a little improvisin' to make it across the ocean and back here. Anyway, I owe that Galvatron a smack in the face with my Sonic Cannon the next time I see him!" Dee-Kal cants her head around, then down. Is it the pizza human? No. It's the human in the hat. Hygeine alert? No...Jazz is recovered and the work is almost complete. She says nothing but waves a surgical-gloved hand at Reidan. Crosshairs listens to Jazz's explanation of what happened to make him a rolling corpse and lets out a low whistle. He's working steadily and quickly though, a few welds here and a rivet or two there and he has mostly covered the other in the 'new' plating and turns away to let the others finish it. "Yer lucky to get out with yer aftplate still attached." He says; then is distracted as Reidan enters. "H'lo." He offers him. "Got a bit of a situation here, so I'll have t'ask ya to be careful not to get underfoot. What can we do fer ya?" Waving back, Reidans' attention is taken by Jazz' words. He blinks, his eyes widen and he blanches... going as white as flour. Slowly he starts to roll backwards, while barely moving a muscle to do so... "Uhm. Uh... Uh..." a pause, as he stares straight ahead, eyes unfocusing "One... one moment please." A drawer slides open from one of the cabinets, and First Aid replaces the magnetic clamps, scalpels, and scanners, taking care that everything is neatly organized. As he sets about his work, he continuously glances in Jazz's direction, enthralled by the story. "They put you in their arena?" he asks incredulously. "Exactly what improving got you across the Pacific?" The Protectobot hears the clitter-clacking of roller skates and looks over at the arriving human. "Are you alright?" he asks, noticing the sudden pale complexion. Foxfire jumps down from the chair and heads over to Reidan, concerned by the human's reaction. "You okay?" Dee-Kal crouches, hands folded in her lap. She focuses on Reidan, tilts her head. "..reminded of bad things?" "No.. I mean Yes! I'm fine, not 'yes, reminded of bad things'. Well, a little. Sorry, that just sounded very... TERRIBLE." notes Reidan, taking his hat off and fanning himself as he continues to roll backwards "Its somewhat Ironic. I am quite fine with vivisecting a bovine to prepare it into delicious stews, but VIOLENCE? " he breathes and changes the subject "Not since Nam, sorry. Anyways. Ahem. Yes, the nice gent... mech? Gentlemech? It works! Told me to come here as I had some technical questions about the inner workings of Transformers." A frown crosses Foxfire's muzzle. "I understand," he murmurs to Reidan. Dee-Kal looks back up at the med-table. Then down at Reidan. She removes the surgical gloves. "Are you lift-up-okay?" She gestures to the med table. "Welcome back to the land of moving parts," Sit-Com says to Jazz. Looking over at First Aid and Crosshairs, Jazz doesn't take too much notice of Reidan entering. The Intel Director is too busy inspecting his new armour. Hopping off the repair bed, Jazz flexes and then runs in place for a few seconds. "Looks like this mech is ready to rock 'n' roll! And all thanks to you!" The Autobot grins at the surrounding group offering a tip of his horned helm. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got an important date! Gotta figure out some mech's name! Think she was wearin' pink armour in that bar I saw her at!" Running past Reidan, Jazz races back out into the main hallway and back to his Intel Office.